Runaway
by uptightcrankyshadownet
Summary: Inspired by BBC Sherlock. Nalex. Nikita runs away and leaves four people with a burden- and another with a broken heart. Rated T for swearing.


When Nikita lays her plan out for the team, it is not, how would you say, met with resounding applause and gasps of admiration at her very meticulously plotted scheme. In fact, the "What in _fuck _is wrong with you, Nikita Mears?" end of the scale would describe it more accurately.

Michael buries his face in his hands, Ryan shakes his head slowly, Sonya smoothes her fingers through her hair while Birkhoff steeples his fingers and raised his eyes to the sky, trying to look contemplative. "You are _not _disappearing off the radar for a year and pretending that you are _really _six feet under in that cemetery, Nikita."

"What? I've done it before, haven't I?" Nikita retorts, trying to quell her impatience. "Look, are you going to help me or not?"

"Nikita Mears..." Michael looks up at her with a steely glare in his eyes. "I want to ask you one thing." To which Nikita nods tersely, although she already knows what he's going to say next. She's proven right.

"Why are you not telling Alex?"

"Because she's too attached." Four voices chorus in knowing unison, making Michael flinch- with rage, with embarrassment, with grief, Nikita can't really tell, not anymore. His voice is raw when he replies. "And I'm not?"

"Michael." Nikita sighs and glances at him meaningfully.

"I know she loves you, but _I do too._" He's restraining himself, knuckles white from the effort, and Sonya places a gentle hand on his shoulder in a gesture to calm him down.

The slender assassin grits her teeth. "Look, the reason why I'm not telling Alex is because she would try and stop me."

"And we wouldn't?" They all exclaim at once, shooting incredulous stares at her. "_Really, _Nikita?"

"Don't you _understand?_" She wants to snap, an overstretched rubber band that's constantly being pulled a hundred different directions, helplessly to stop the cancer devouring her soul from within. Why can't they just understand, that she _has _to be dead so they can work things out? If the president's murderer is dead, if they can't bring her in any longer, then the authorities will be forced to rely on facts rather than chasing after the perp, who's now expired. They don't see it that way, of course they don't, but they have to. This time, they have to. "Why can't you just-"

"Because Alex is the only one who would just say one word in protest and then you'd crumble." Birkhoff speaks up, voice barely a whisper- accusatory, almost furious. "Because we could talk to you from sunup to sundown and you'd still pretend to crash that damn car and set it on fire and everyone would testify that the woman who killed the president is dead. But the moment Alex grabs your hand and begs you not to leave you'd never be able to go through with it. She's your Achilles heel, and you can't have that, can you? You're so insistent that you're right, that being dead will be the best thing, and the only promise that you're going to come back is your own word. What if you choose never to return?" He stands, rounding on her like a predator, fangs dripping with poison, in a way that startles everyone, including her. "You're so selfish, Nikita. I never thought you would do this. You want to hurt Alex and make her think she's lost the person she loves more than her own life without the chance to say goodbye. You want to make all of us live with guilty consciences because if you don't come back we'll _never _be able to look her in the eye again. All because you don't trust that we could do things as a team. We _are _a team, Nikita. We're a _family. _And after all this time, all you really want to do is go solo." Birkhoff slams his hand down on a table and walks out without a second glance, Michael following behind, leaving Nikita helpless.

Because he's right, at least about Alex being her Achilles heel. She knows, without a doubt, that the moment Alex's eyes stretched wide with horror and disbelief and she whispered one "no, please don't go", everything would crash and burn. Which is why she's choosing the hard way, choosing to hurt Alex and hurt them all- but it always gets worse before it gets better, doesn't it?

Ryan has reached her side, touching her arm in a signal of solidarity. "I don't agree with you. Not in the least. But I know how you feel, and I know you'll come back. So go. We'll take care of her, just... swear to me you'll come back, Nikita. We love you. So much." Sonya nods, earnest, almost desperate.

Nikita feels the tears welling up in her eyes, and squeezes his hand. "Okay."

When she drives off two days later in their car, leaving her ring behind on the windowsill, Alex is thrown into panic. They're all terrified, although not for the same reasons. It physically pains them all to see Alex's anguish and worry turn to complete devastation as the days go by, and then the dull, blank stare set into her eyes when the headlines come out, how Nikita got involved in a car chase with the cops and drove down a hill, the car going up in flames. They see her waver between denial and acceptance, see her begin to dissolve in front of them.

A month on, Alex still never smiles. They watch quietly from the sides of their peripheral vision when they see her gaze fall upon their one and only 'family photo' by the television, see her lips begin to curve upwards as she fixes her eyes on her hand in Nikita's, their smiles back in a time when Nikita was with them- and then they have to watch as her face falls, as she retreats into the garden and they know if they go close they'll hear uncontrollable sobs, the torment of someone who's gone through so much she doesn't deserve.

Six months after the news article comes out, nobody talks about the president's assassin any longer. Life goes on. Alex is huddled in her room, a common occurence now, and they're all going about their business when their mobiles beep.

The general response is "you fucker" when five people receive a photo of Nikita in some cold country halfway around the globe with an accompanying message. _Back soon._

And when she does, an entire _year _later, she lets herself in with her own key and _makes a veggie shake._

Michael walks into the kitchen sleepily, the first one up in the morning and nearly passes out when he sees the tall, beautiful figure putting carrots in the juicer.

"Hey, Mikey." She says it like she's back from grocery shopping, like she hasn't been away for eighteen months, like this is normal.

"You _fucking asshole, '_soon' is _not _a year later!" He explodes and Nikita swears she can feel the walls shake. She lets him grab her and shake her shoulders, baring his teeth. "Do you want to know what happened while you were gone? Do you want to know how Alex frequented the garden because she was crying and refusing to let us see? Do you want me to describe the look in her eyes when she first read that damn article that was splashed over every media base, from the most reputable newspaper to the trashiest tabloids? Do you want to know how it feels to see the Alex you knew wither in front of you in every way? Do you want to know how it feels to accompany her to your grave and act like you're really there when we all know that you're alive and well and doing god knows _fucking _what while she shatters before our eyes? Nikita Mears, look into our eyes and tell us all that you cared about us, that you loved her!"

"Fine." Nikita growls, steady and even, and looks at something over his shoulder. "Alexandra Udinov, I love you and I'm sorry."

Michael turns, thrown, and sees the youngest member of their dysfunctional pseudo-family standing in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall for support, looking hunted, pale and drawn, eyes haunted.

"Nikita."

Nikita shoves Michael away effortlessly, crossing the kitchen in three strides and enveloping the younger woman in a hug. "_Alex._"

"I hate you." The words tremble with emotion as Alex screams loud enough to wake the dead, slamming fists into Nikita's chest, unable to speak or breathe properly. "_I hate you!_"

"I'm sorry." Nikita had a speech planned, she had her grand re-entrance planned, she knows she did- and Alex's appearance just leaves that completely null and void. "Alex, Alex, please, I-"

"Don't _ever _leave me again." The Russian girl cries and captures Nikita's lips with her own, and it's so familiar. even after all this time. Nikita sinks to the ground on her knees, bringing Alex with her, unable to let go.

They've amassed an audience by now, Birkhoff, Ryan and Sonya staring from the corridor while Michael just leans back, exhausted from the outburst. Alex's sobs have died down to hiccups now, clinging on to Nikita for dear life.

Nikita has a lot of explaining and catching up to do, she knows. But she'll take that when it comes, and for now she just holds Alex and keeps her close and begins to understand everything she missed... and when they inch their way closer and join what becomes a group hug, she knows that one and a half years ago, she made the wrong decision to run away.


End file.
